


Die Like A Saint

by TeyrianTimelord



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mentions of Character Death, Post Infinity War, implied sex if you want it, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 13:38:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeyrianTimelord/pseuds/TeyrianTimelord
Summary: There's a horrible irony that comes with spending a first Valentine's Day together after half the universe has been erased.Steve and Natasha don't know how to handle that.





	Die Like A Saint

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Castielgurl on Tumblr for giving me this prompt and breaking my boredom at work!

Steve stood outside of the flower shop’s front window, staring at the arrangements. The store had been open for an hour now, but he didn’t dare to step foot through the door. The bouquets were beautifully displayed in shimmering crystal vases that caught the early morning light. By this time a year ago, there would have been a line around the block full of men scrambling at the last minute to buy roses for their dates. But not this year. Not today. The only person he saw come and go was a weeping teenager dressed in a poorly fitting black dress for a small bundle of white lilies.  _ “They were her favorite,”  _ the young woman had murmured softly when she caught him staring, and he only nodded solemnly in reply. He knew that’s all the service the shop would have today; flowers purchased to be left on headstones marking empty graves. The gentleman in him said it was unforgivable to meet a lady on Valentine’s Day without a dozen long stem roses, but not nearly as unforgivable as reminding the world how many loved ones weren’t around to celebrate this year. For a moment he wondered if there was even anything worth celebrating at all. 

 

But he needed something to bring back to the compound for Natasha. She was the only thing he had left in his life to keep him from crashing another plane into the ocean, and if he couldn’t find cause to celebrate that, then what was the point? He finally mustered every bit of strength left in his body, blinked back the tears forming in his eyes, and went inside to purchase a single scarlet rose in a delicate pewter vase. 

 

***

 

The clock on the wall struck 1:00 PM, but Natasha just pulled the sheets higher up over her shoulders. She’d been awake since five in the morning, not that it mattered. Her routine changed by the day; sometimes she would go 48 hours without sleep or food, shooting at the range until she couldn’t find any more ammunition or attacking a punching bag until her knuckles bled even through the boxing wraps tied around her hands. Sometimes she stayed in bed for days at a time, only moving if Steve brought her a drink (and even then, it was only because she secretly hoped one day the alcohol would be enough to kill her). There was no rhyme or reason, no pattern for which one the week would bring, and nothing in between the two extremes. Bruce and Rhodey told her repeatedly that they were worried about her… so she avoided them.  

 

The only person she wanted to see was Steve. He was coping with his pain like she was, drowning himself in self-destruction and recklessness. He never judged her, never told her to stop, never tried to convince her to pull herself together and move on and keep fighting the good fight. The closest he ever came to any of that were the nights he would slip quietly into her room without an invitation and silently hold her through the night. Sometimes they laid there together as still as corpses, sometimes they’d run their hands all over each other to reaffirm they were still alive. It was the closest thing they had to comfort in the midst of the end of the world. 

 

Natasha peaked up as she heard her door open. He didn’t knock before coming in. He never did. He didn’t have to. She slowly sat up and rested her back squarely against the headboard when he came closer and placed a small vase holding a rose on her nightstand. 

 

“Going soft on me, Rogers?” she deadpanned with what little was left of her sense of humor. 

 

“I guess so,” he replied in a matching tone. 

 

Time was funny now. With all the days merging into a muddled mess in her mind, Natasha didn’t even realize it was February 14th, much less register that Valentine’s Day was even still recognized. It was never her holiday to begin with, as it usually meant working overtime. Targets who were single this time of year were usually more vulnerable, more likely to pick up a beautiful redhead soliciting them in the hotel bar, and paying less attention when it was her time to strike. She never had a reason to celebrate it before, so why should she celebrate it now?

 

“You know,” Steve finally started after several drawn out moments of silence. “This is our first Valentine’s Day.”

 

“What does that matter?” she said back, glancing over at the rose from the corner of her eye. 

 

“I love you.” 

 

Natasha blinked rapidly several times in the course of an instant. It wasn’t a confession. His voice didn’t waver with nerves, nor was it overcome with emotion. There was no excited cadence of a star-struck man declaring his undying affection for a swooning damsel. It was simply a statement, as matter-of-fact as if he had just mentioned that it was raining outside. Militant, if she had to put a single adjective to work. Pragmatic. 

 

“Why?” was all she could think to ask in response. 

 

He didn’t answer. Instead he leaned in and planted a very stern, firm kiss onto her lips. She wasn’t shocked, but she wasn’t expecting it either. She should have known better than to ask questions she didn’t want to know the answer to. After only a few seconds, he moved to lean away, but instead of letting him, Natasha put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him deeper into the kiss. This was what she didn’t know she needed. No matter how distant or detached his touch seemed to be, it suddenly struck her at full force that this was the reason she needed to live. This was the reason for… for… everything. Anything. Nearly everyone they loved was gone but she still had him and he still had her. That could be enough. It had to be. 

 

Without breaking their contact, Natasha maneuvered him onto the bed so that his back was pressed into the mattress and she could throw one leg over his waist. She ran her hands down his chest and started unbuttoning his shirt. She didn’t need sex; she needed to be close to him, to feel a human connection with the last man alive she trusted to help her find some reason to get up and keep going and not give up anymore. He swiftly did the same, pulling the tank top she wore to sleep over her head and tossing it aside before grabbing her hips like his life depended on it. A burn like molten steel shot through her veins as everything became more heated. His fingers gripped tighter and tighter until she knew there would be bruises in her skin for days, but that was alright. She raked her nails over his chest, his arms, his back. She pulled his hair and let out an uncharacteristically loud moan as his teeth grazed her neck. Steve wasn’t Captain America anymore, he hadn’t been since dropping his shield in Siberia. All she had known for the past three years was the man behind the shield, Steve Rogers as nothing but a man, or so she had thought. His touch wasn’t humble, his mouth wasn’t respectful, he didn’t ask her permission before flipping their positions so she was the one pinned down. They had been teammates since New York, partners since SHIELD, and friends since Washington D.C. but that hadn’t been enough to snap her out of the cloud of agony since Thanos took their lives away. Now they were something else.

 

“Steve,” she moaned again as he pushed more and more of his weight down on her. “Steve, I need you to… I need… I need you.” 

 

Just like before, he didn’t say anything in response, but he seemed to understand her because he started kissing her with a relentless determination she’d only seen him carry into battle before. She knew her whole body would be marked by the time they were done and she hoped for nothing less. Natasha wanted to see what he left behind every time she looked in the mirror for the next week, to see the reminders that they were alive and still had some fight left in them to make  _ something work _ . The last thing that went through her head before Steve repositioned and her whole vision went white with sublime ecstasy was that the calendar date was fitting…

 

They would either see this through, or die like saints trying. 


End file.
